


La Fée Verte (The Green Fairy)

by mickie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Absinthe, Fluff, Jim Moriarty is a Brat, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/pseuds/mickie
Summary: Sherlock goes home to work on a case and Jim helps.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: Sherlock Challenge





	La Fée Verte (The Green Fairy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts).



> This is my March 2020 entry for the Sherlock Challenge on Tumblr. The prompt is **drip**.

**La Fée Verte**

Almost home. It was snowing but from half a block away, Sherlock could see that the lights were on in 221B. “Damn,” he cursed under his breath. Lights on meant that someone was in the flat. Sherlock had a ridiculous case no thanks to Mycroft to work on that evening. It rated a negative fourteen. 

Lady Smallwood’s manor had recently been burgled. The only things missing were parts of her glassware and silverware sets. British intelligence had already scoured her computer system and found that nothing had been compromised. Sherlock couldn’t be arsed but Mycroft had insisted and he needed to humor his brother so that Mycroft would continue to pretend that Jim was dead.

Sighing, Sherlock guessed that it was either John, Mrs. Hudson, or Jim. John had supposedly scheduled a shift at the hospital but he had “case radar” and shifts magically disappeared whenever Sherlock had a good case. Not that this was a good one. And having John around for anything involving Lady Smallwood would make things worse. 

Mrs. Hudson was his best option. She had mentioned wanting to try a new recipe for dark chocolate raspberry brownies and she usually brought up a plate when she made treats. That wouldn’t be bad except that she’d probably want to stay and chat. That would interfere with his mental analysis of all the excruciatingly painful details involved in this case.

Jim would be the worst option. That evening was supposed to be “date night” but Sherlock had cancelled under the pretext of having to work at Mycroft’s office. If that were Jim in the flat, he’d be caught in a lie; he’d also be guilty of prioritizing work over his very jealous boyfriend; and he’d most likely have to deal with an upset and soon-to-be-murderous Moriarty. An utterly suboptimal situation.

Sherlock smiled wryly as he unlocked the door and began climbing the steps. At least he was certain that it wasn’t Mycroft. He’d left his brother at the office with an MI5 budget to review, a cup of black currant tea, and an apple dumpling.

The door to 221B was locked thereby eliminating Mrs. Hudson. She left the door unlocked and usually wide open when she was in the flat. A Smith & Wesson Model 629 did wonders for keeping trouble out. He opened the door and saw Jim Moriarty stretched across the couch. Damn. He saw a momentary annoyance flash across his lover’s face but then ennui set in.

“Home early, dar~ling?” Jim drawled and then their eyes met. Accusation.

Sherlock smiled wanly. Apology. 

Jim tilted his head. Understanding. Affection. 

Perhaps Jim wasn’t going to be cranky. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. One of the things that Sherlock loved about Jim was that they understood each other without the need for too many words. “Mycroft,” he said.

“ _Oh_ , _sacre blah_!”

“I thought I could be more productive if I were home alone and could think. This case is a seven in stupidity.”

“Well… I do some of my best thinking during sex,” Jim stated.

“And you’re here to help me with that?”

“Absolutely.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock took off his coat and scarf and went to hang them up when he noticed a silver and glass urn with four spigots on his desk. It was filled with water. He groaned with dismay. “James?”

“Case closed, darling?”

“Why is Lady Smallwood’s absinthe fountain on my desk?”

“Cross contamination. You left your agar plates from the Clearfield case on the table.”

“Hmmm…” Sherlock said, pursing his lips. Jim did have a small point there but it didn’t really answer what Sherlock wanted to know. Jim was being obtuse on purpose. Sherlock took a deep breath and spoke purposefully, “Let me clarify… _Why_ is Lady Smallwood’s absinthe fountain in this room?” 

“Because I had planned something special for date night,” Jim answered.

“You borrowed Lady Smallwood’s absinthe fountain,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Jim replied. “And after we’re done, we can return it to Mycroft’s house. Maybe see if he has something that I need to borrow. Why doesn’t he have one?”

“Mycroft doesn’t drink anything green,” Sherlock said.

“Not even Chartreuse?”

“No.”

“Heathen.”

“Well, yes,” Sherlock agreed and almost chuckled at the thought of his brother drinking anything other than Scotch.

“I’m sure there’s a nice one at the Louvre that I can acquire if we decide that we like this.”

Sherlock had to admit that stealing something from the Louvre was probably a fun challenge that would keep him and James entertained for a few days. Sipping champagne in Paris also held appeal and Paris might be the right setting for Sherlock to ask Jim to marry him. He was waiting for the perfect moment. It was probably for the best, however, not to encourage Jim in certain criminal endeavors. “I’ll have Mycroft buy us one,” he said. “Where are the rest of her belongings?”

“Three boxes in your bed~room!”

“Why?”

“It would have been boring and obvious if I’d taken just the fountain,” Jim explained. “Mycroft would have figured it out in five minutes. I made sure to take the most annoying selection of things to give him a headache.”

“I’m sure.” Sherlock walked to the couch and extended an arm to help Jim up. His lover took it and hoisted himself to vertical. “I don’t think I’ve ever had absinthe.”

“I blame Mycroft.”

“Obviously.”

“It’s having a renaissance,” Jim said. “I had some that was illegal and dangerous when I was young, eight maybe, and it’s a miracle that I survived.”

“It was never toxic except in large amounts,” Sherlock said. 

“I repeat my previous statement.”

“Shall we get on with it then?”

“You can’t rush perfection,” Jim chided. “But I understand your desire to move on to sex and thinking during sex.” He went to the freezer and retrieved his goldfish ice cube molds. Sherlock used the regular ice cube trays for freezing many substances. He was strictly forbidden from touching any of Jim’s ice molds for scientific experiments. The goldfish were both of their favorites for Mycroft reasons.

“Ice cubes in the fountain,” Jim said as he popped the fish cubes into the water. “Aren’t they cute?”

“Yes.” 

“Unlike your brother…”

“You don’t dislike Mycroft as much as you pretend to,” Sherlock said. Watching the fish in the fountain was entrancing.

“Neither do you; we both adore him and we’ll kill anyone who says as much or touches a hair on his properly coiffed head,” Jim said, while picking up two absinthe glasses and two wormwood leaf perforated spoons from the drying rack. “Got these too. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed and smiled. He loved seeing Jim become totally engrossed in something. “I’m surprised she had all the accoutrements.”

“They were probably her husband’s,” Jim said. “He had _interesting_ tastes.”

“Disgusting tastes, if you ask me,” Sherlock said and observed Jim. “Fountain, glass beneath two spigots, spoon on top of each glass.”

Jim picked up a paper bag that was at the foot of the couch. Inside was a bottle of absinthe and a bag of heart-shaped sugar cubes. “Interesting.” Sherlock took the bag from Jim.

“We’ll need one cube each,” Jim said. He poured absinthe in each glass up to the top of the reservoir and then moved so that Sherlock could put the sugar cube on top of the spoon. “This is going to be good.”

“If you say so,” Sherlock said but smiled because he was intrigued. Being with Jim relaxed him and his lover’s exuberance lifted his spirit. “Should I move the boxes in case we need to get to the bedroom quickly?” 

“Good idea.” Jim sat down and waited for Sherlock to finish.

“Did you have to steal that much?” Sherlock grumbled as he flopped in the other chair by his desk. “We’re going to have to haul all this ourselves.”

“I was having _fun_ ,” Jim said and shot him a pouting look. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Jim continued, “Now we turn on the water so that it drips out slowly.” They both did so. Each drop fell on their respective sugar cube and dissolved a bit of it. Eventually the water dripped through the perforations in the spoon and into the glass. The water turned some of the absinthe cloudy.

Sherlock called up the information he had on absinthe as he watched the water drip from the spoon into his glass. “Absinthe is a distilled alcohol flavored by an infusion of herbs, notably wormwood but also green anise, hyssop, lemon balm, and Florence fennel.”

“I enjoy it even though it made me sick as a child.”

“The thujone found in wormwood, sage, and other herbs can be toxic when ingested in large amounts, causing epileptic-like convulsions and kidney failure.”

“I didn’t have any of those, I think.”

“The chemical is an antagonist of the neurotransmitter γ-aminobutyric acid (GABA). By inhibiting GABA receptor activation, thujone can cause brain neurons to fire more easily, leading to muscle spasms and convulsions. The α-thujone isomer is rather more toxic than the β-isomer…” 

“That sounds useful.”

“It’s impossible to ingest enough thujone to get to that level without being incapacitated by the quantity of alcohol first,” Sherlock noted.

“I guessed as much,” Jim grumbled. “It would be brilliant if I could kill someone with it though.”

“James.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s emulsifying, like ouzo,” Sherlock observed absentmindedly.

“That’s called making a louche,” Jim said. “I find the drip calming.”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s soothing.” They watched until the sugar cube was dissolved. Jim then took one spoon and stirred the drink. Sherlock did the same. “It’s a fascinating color.”

“It is,” Jim agreed and set his spoon down before lifting his glass up. “Cheers to the green fairy.”

“Cheers,” Sherlock said, smiling at his lover, who frequently reminded him of a fae. “Afterwards I need to ask you a question…”

 _The End_.


End file.
